


Wallow

by mansikka



Series: A Soulmate's Scrawl [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Human Castiel, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 10:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6514237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm sorry, please come home </p><p>Dean looks down at the message on his arm and scowls a little to see it, roughly shoving his sleeve down to cover it up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wallow

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise for throwing angst into what has so far been a field of fluff... I hope you like how it works out though :) x

_ I'm sorry, please come home _

Dean looks down at the message on his arm and scowls a little to see it, roughly shoving his sleeve down to cover it up.

He waits a minute. Another. Then reaches for his phone, typing a rapid:

_ With Sam. _

Before turning off the sound and sliding it back in his pocket.

He knows Cas'll get the real message; no reply on his arm means this is going to take more than a simple  _ sorry _ , that he is beyond angry at the moment and that he needs to be left alone.

Not that he'd unduly make Cas worry by not responding at all, hence the text message he's just sent. But still.

He's staring off into the distance, boiling with anger even if he can't fix exactly on where the anger's focused, and startles when he hears a voice above him.

“Everything okay?”

Dean looks up from where he's sat at the bench in Sam's kitchen as Sam comes to a halt right in front of him, staring down at him in concern.

“Fine,” Dean mumbles, dropping his eyes immediately.

Sam hums to himself, and Dean watches out of the corner of his eye as he crosses the room, bends to the fridge, pulls out two bottles and returns, passing one to him.

“Thanks,” Dean says, dull, twisting off his own cap and unthinkingly reaching out to do the same for Sam.

“Wanna talk about it?” Sam asks, taking a swig.

“Do I ever?”

“First time for everything, Dean,” and Dean looks up to see Sam shrug, then smile. “Come outside? I need some air,”

Sam nods towards the patio door to the garden and moves, with Dean slowly rising to his feet and following. They lean over the railing around the porch, idly staring out over the grass and the beds of flowers Jess had Sam dig in, but tends to herself.

“So,” Sam presses, and Dean wants to groan at the tone in his voice. But he knows Sam, and that Sam means well, and that if Sam expects him to talk, then he'll talk, one way or another. “Cas?”

Dean closes his eyes to the anger and the hurt he feels at the mention of his name, but nods. “Yeah.”

“What's he done?”

That, Dean tells himself, is actually a really good question.

“It's nothing, really,” Dean says softly, his eyes narrowing a little as he remembers.

Dean loves his job. He loves his students, the school, the staff, and everything about what he does. He can't imagine ever wanting to work anywhere else, or do anything else. And most importantly, he's never out of his element. He knows exactly what he's doing, at all times. There's no stretch. No challenge. He's  _ comfortable _ .

Sure, he gets a kick out of the occasional commission he takes on for his artwork, and when Cas had proudly stood by his side when one of his pieces had been exhibited in the local gallery, after he'd got over the initial embarrassment, Dean had found he really enjoyed the experience.

But the classroom that had been his pretty much since he'd graduated was familiar, like a second home.  _ Comfortable _ .

But then a couple of days ago Bobby had mentioned retirement, mumbled something about the likely success of Dean going for department head. And an old professor had emailed out of nowhere whispering promises of a tenureship at the college Dean had studied at, which would pay him vastly more than he was currently getting, plus give him the opportunity to have more time to do his own art. Suddenly, Dean's very small world seemed threatened, loomed over by unforeseen choices and possibilities.

Cas had been so ecstatically happy for him, Dean remembers now, smiling a little wistfully to himself.

“If it's nothing. Why'd you turn up on my doorstep with a face like thunder and spend so long scowling at whatever it was Cas was writing that I got through three phone calls, every last one of my emails, and put on a load of washing before you even spoke to me?” Sam fixes him with a look that demands a truthful answer, and keeps on staring at him.

Dean screws his nose up at how transparent he must be – and how he hadn't actually noticed the passing of that much time. And then thinks that it's true what Sam had said about him glaring at his arm earlier: before Cas' apology, Dean had read

_ I'm proud of you, whatever you do, Dean _

_ Please don't push me away _

_ I really would follow you anywhere, you know _

_ I love you _

With each line cutting in to him. Because he knows he's overreacted, flared up a huge something out of nothing. Like he always does with things like this. Things that make him feel threatened, and doubtful of himself.

It's the first time he's done this with Cas though, he thinks to himself, and feels a cold wave of uneasiness suddenly flush through him.

“It's... nothing, really,” Dean repeats, idly running his hand over his sleeve-covered arm. “I just...”

When Dean's voice trails away in difficulty, Sam nods to himself, and steps in. “Things are good between you. Right?”

Dean smiles automatically, glancing down at his bottle and tapping it on the railing. “Yeah. Yeah, they are.” Which might be an understatement, but his mood still hasn't quite left him so he's not going to add anything else yet.

“And... you practically live together,” Sam points out, smiling as though he can read Dean's mind.

Dean laughs softly. “Damn cat's taken to falling asleep on my stuff. Think it's marking me as part of its territory.” He doesn't mention to Sam how he's taken to buying cat toys and catnip on the way to Cas' apartment, and has even considered constructing one of those cat climbing frame things for it.

He also doesn't mention that last night, after his and Cas' argument, was the first night he's slept alone in so long, that he can't even remember the last time it had happened.

Sam doesn't need to know either of those things.

“Cats do that,” Sam agrees, taking in the way Dean's expression has already softened a little, but doesn't comment on it.

They stand together in companionable silence for a while, before Sam tries again. “Bobby mentioned he was thinking of retiring,”

Dean's jaw instantly clenches, and Sam's pretty sure he's found at least part of the source of the problem. “Yeah. He's thinking about it.”

Dean then tells Sam about the possible tenureship, and all the puzzle pieces slot into place for him.

“So,” Sam starts, wondering how angry Dean's reaction is going to be. “I'm gonna take a stab in the dark here, and assume you're out of your comfort zone. That... for whatever reason, somehow these potential offers are making you doubt yourself, and think that you're somehow not good enough.”

Dean's wince tells Sam he's close.

“When are you gonna let yourself realise how good you really are, Dean? At teaching, at art... at it all?” Sam asks him gently, bringing up a hand to grip lightly around his elbow.

Dean blushes at the compliment, and turns his head away.

“Let me guess,” Sam continues, smiling as he drops his hand again. “Cas happens to agree with  _ me _ . That you are too hard on yourself, that you're... more than good enough, for either of these positions, as well as what you're already doing. That the only thing holding you back is  _ you _ . And that... that he's told you he'll support whatever decision you make, because he loves you, and he's proud of you, no matter what. Am I right?”

Dean won't tell Sam that he's frighteningly accurate, and that he's just repeated, albeit through paraphrasing, almost precisely what Cas had told him. He won't tell him that he remembers the argument clearly; how he'd turned Cas' praise into lecturing, and forcing his hand, and stifling him, when really, all Cas had offered was to  _ hold _ his hand, throughout whatever choices he made.

Dean feels suddenly very foolish and lets his shoulders slump in defeat, before draining his beer.

Sam allows Dean a moment to wallow in his own pity. He remembers how when they were growing up, teachers, sometimes well-meaning neighbours, and more than anyone else, their dad, would repeatedly tell Dean that he wasn't good enough. That he wouldn't really amount to much, that he should take whatever was given to him because there was nothing much he could actually do for himself.

It had taken so much effort on his, Bobby's and Ellen's part to push Dean to even apply to go to college in the first place. And the way Dean had painstakingly put together his portfolio and application letter had taught Sam so many lessons about determination and hard work; things he would forever be grateful for.

Sam would cheerfully punch each and every one of those belittling voices he knows whispers in Dean's ear even long after most of them are gone from his life. But this isn't his fight; Dean needs to believe in  _ himself, _ he knows that.

“You've been here...” And Sam glances down at his watch, eyes widening in surprise, “four hours. That might be the longest you've ever gone without eating,”

Dean grins up at Sam's teasing, knocking his elbow against his.

“Wanna stay and cook us dinner?” Sam's only half joking; he knows if it's left to him or Jess it'll be something microwaveable or a sandwich.

“That's, uh... a kind offer,” Dean laughs, shaking his head. “But... I... you're right. And I've got me some olive branches to be extending. Whole trees of 'em,” he adds, biting down on his lip in worry.

“I have no need to know about anything you're extending Cas' way, Dean,” Sam retorts, pinching the bridge of his nose and pretending as though he is very much put upon.

In a blur of sudden activity, Dean is laughing, cluttering his bottle down on to the kitchen counter surface, hugging Sam goodbye, and rushing for the car.

His heart is pounding; partly in anticipation of seeing Cas, and partly because he fears that he's left it too long. Although he doesn't really honestly believe that. Not really. Not much, anyway.

At traffic lights he types out a quick message on his phone:

_ Coming over, bringing dinner _

He makes the quickest visit to a grocery store he thinks he's ever made in his life, and while he's standing impatiently in the queue waiting to be served, his arm itches; not because Cas is writing something, but because he himself is desperate to write back.

Dean throws himself into the car seat and scrambles for a pen, shoving back his sleeve, and staring down. He annotates Cas' list:

_ I'm proud of you, whatever you do, Dean – Not sure I deserve how good you are to me _

_ Please don't push me away – I won't, I  _ _ promise _ _ I won't, not anymore _

_ I really would follow you anywhere, you know – you wouldn't be  _ _ following _ _ , I'd be  _ _ taking _ _ you. I can't go anywhere without you anyway. Need you, Cas _

_ I love you – and I love  _ _ you _ _ , Cas, so, so much x _

_ I'm sorry, please come home – I'm sorry too... and I'm on my way _

Dean's barely out of the elevator when Cas' apartment door swings open, and Dean has to tighten his grip on the paper bags in his hands at the shock of the tortured look on Cas' face. He's clearly been crying, the stubble on his jaw says he hasn't shaved, and his hair's even more on end than usual, as though he's had his fingers running through it repeatedly in worry.

Without even stopping, Dean barrels into him, kissing Cas hard despite the grocery bags wedged between them. He keeps pushing Cas backwards until they're in the apartment and Dean can kick the door shut behind him.

Dean turns, just for a moment, to put the bags down on to a table. He rummages, pulling out a catnip mouse that he throws in the direction of the cat who is glaring at him accusingly from across the room. Then he's cupping Cas' face, kissing away his tears, sighing in relief as he feels Cas' arms slip around him.

He mumbles sorry repeatedly into Cas' lips, begs for forgiveness when Cas lets out a shaky breath, and claims the gentlest of kisses, holding on until he feels Cas calm in his arms.

“I love you, Cas,” he whispers against him again, kissing his temple and running his fingers through the back of his hair. Cas' head drops forward, nuzzling into the crook of Dean's neck, with a single lingering kiss there before he rests.

Dean and Cas hold each other in silence, listening to each other's breathing, standing in that same spot for they don't know how long.

Dean eventually tangles their fingers together, walks Cas over to the kitchen, and with a grunt, lifts him to sit on one of the surfaces there. He slides his hands along Cas' thighs and looks up at him with a wink then steps away, coming back instantly with the bags of groceries.

He pulls out a bottle of wine that he knows Cas really likes and pours him a glass, handing it over as he starts to prepare dinner, and making idle conversation as he does. He refuses to let Cas help, instead constantly returning to him and leaning up for kisses as he cooks.

Cas jumps down when Dean is almost finished and sets the table, smiling as his stomach growls in appreciation when Dean slides the pan of food down between them. Dean grins wide, bending down awkwardly to kiss Cas' stomach then straightening back up again, serving them both.

When they're lazily laying together on the couch later talking about the pros and cons of Dean's possible work prospects, Dean silently thanks whoever is listening that he is there with Cas, and that he  _ has _ Cas, and promises he'll do his best never to screw things up again.

He reaches across to a pen on the coffee table next to them, and idly starts doodling patterns up his arm, resting his arm against Cas' back as he does. Cas nuzzles into him briefly before shifting himself around just enough so that he's free to extend his own arm to look at, and smiles.

With Cas now watching and only a second of hesitation, Dean writes

_ Can we move in together, Cas? Properly. I don't care where, I just want a home. With  _ _ you _

He listens to the pleased little sound that escapes Cas' lips, lets him pull the pen gently from his fingers and watches as he moves back from him to the opposite end of the couch. Dean watches him write, waiting until he finishes and looks back at him expectantly before looking down at his own arm to see what Cas has written.

_ You ARE my home, Dean (but yes... forever yes... :) _

he sees, then chokes back a sob, and leans across to gather Cas up for another kiss.

  
  



End file.
